


Falling For You

by jeahwriting



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeahwriting/pseuds/jeahwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael didn’t remember exactly when he fell for Ryan Lochte.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling For You

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is probably the first phlochte fic I ever wrote. (:

Ryan knew the exact moment that he fell in love with Michael Phelps.

  


It was after one of their matches during the Beijing Olympics. The two of them were sitting in their hotel room, laughing and drinking. They talked about everything, from the medal Michael had just won, to the next Olympic Games four years later. Somewhere in the middle of Ryan’s pledge to ‘kick Michael’s ass’ in London, their lips had connected. Ryan smiled into the kiss. This was comfortable. This was familiar. This was them and nothing else. 

  


When Mike had finally pulled away, the setting sun was bouncing off his face. His hands never left Ryan’s neck. Mike scooted a little closer and flashed him his crooked-tooth grin—and, in that moment, Ryan knew. He knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life next to this man. Mike who always threw a fit in the mornings. Mike who always got a little cocky in front of a pool. Mike who always made a point to save a grin for him.

 

***

  


Michael didn’t remember exactly when he fell for Ryan Lochte.

  


The first time he thought about it was around the time he got sick before Nationals. Ryan was there, cackling the whole time—because the great invincible Michael Phelps might actually lose his titles because of a cold. Michael just scowled at him and pulled him close. “If I’m going down, you’re coming with me, Lochte.” He grinned as Ryan tried to squirm away, yelping, and kissed him silent.

  


Michael got better before Nationals and Ryan managed to fend off the cold until after. When Ryan was stuck in bed, Mike brought him soup and all the blankets he needed. At first, Ryan rejected both. “You’re such an asshole, Mike. If it weren’t for you, I’d be off vacationing now.” “Yeah, with me.” And Ryan couldn’t be mad after that because it was true.

  


The third night, when Michael was feeding him a spoonful of soup, Ryan spluttered and spit it right out. “Jesus, why is it so fucking hot? Jeah, I think I burned my tongue off—god—” Mike watched Ryan cough and wheeze, and the thought crossed his mind. That maybe this thing with Ryan was real. Maybe he actually liked being here and taking care of Lochte, big baby that he was.

  


Michael shook the thought away. Nah, they were just friends. With benefits, maybe. But just friends.

  


The second time, Ryan had invited Michael to his home. His parents were having a family gathering and Ryan asked Mike to come without really even thinking about it. They were so close that it was just natural. Steven barely blinked when Ryan told him. Ileana grinned, “Of course Mike can come. You two are like brothers. He’s practically family.” Ryan choked on his water and tried to keep from laughing. Brothers, indeed.

  


The evening that he flew down, Michael walked into the Lochte living room to find Ryan sprawled across the couch, little Zaydin asleep on his chest. And Mike’s heart leapt to his throat because—damn—this is what he wanted. This was what he wanted to come home to. Ryan chilling out watching television and, maybe, their kid fast asleep next to him. 

  


“Hey, Mikey!” Ryan whispered when he saw him. “Sorry, I would totally get up but the little bro’s asleep.” And he looked down at little Zaydin with a look of pure adoration. He grinned down at the kid, rubbing small circles in his back, and Michael felt something twist in his stomach.

  


“Hey, you okay, dude?” Ryan studied Michael’s face, squinting. “You look kind of weird.”

  


Michael tried to shake the feeling. “Yeah, man, I’m great.” Ryan nodded, flashing him a dimpled grin. 

  


Staring at Ryan and little Zaydin from the corner of the room, Mike thought again about the two of them. What they were—and what they maybe could be.

  


The third time was at a funeral. Steven Lochte had passed away the week before and Ryan was in pieces. Michael and Ryan were both in black suits, sitting together in the corner of the funeral hall. Ryan had his head buried in Michael’s neck and Mike’s fingers were in Ryan’s hair, holding him close.

  


Ryan hadn’t said anything in over an hour—which was weird because Ryan always had something to say. “I’m here for you, Ry.” Michael whispered in his ear. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.” Mike felt Ryan nod and he pulled him even tighter. 

  


Michael knew Ryan. He knew that Ryan was usually on top of the world, living in the moment and having a blast. And when he was like that nothing could touch him. But Mike also knew that, when Ryan fell, as he sometimes did, he fell hard. He crashed and burned. 

  


Ryan pulled back and Mike saw the tear streaks on his cheeks and the redness of his nose. Mike reached up and wiped the tears with his sleeve. In that moment, Michael wanted nothing more than to take his pain away. He wanted to do whatever it took to make Ryan smile again. The sensation crashed over him like a tidal wave and Michael’s stomach squirmed with that feeling again. The feeling he had had when Ryan was sick. The feeling he had had when he saw Ryan with little Zaydin.

 

***

  


The words were finally murmured a year later. 

  


It was really an ordinary day. Michael had come down to Gainesville to watch Ryan train and they had ended up screwing in Ryan’s bed.

  


Michael looked up at Ryan’s flushed face and twitching muscles. He came up and smashed their lips together as Ryan came, body shaking and hands gripping the sheets. Ryan pulled back and grinned up at Michael, panting and moaning. “Christ, Mike.” He kissed a small trail down his neck before meeting his lips again. “Man, I love you.”

  


Michael froze and stared down at Ryan. Ryan’s eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly. “Oh, shit. Sorry, Mikey, forget I said anything. Fuck, I didn’t mean—”

  


“I love you too.” 

  


He felt Ryan’s muscles go rigid under him. “You do?”

  


Mike didn’t know exactly when he fell for Ryan. But, as soon as the words left his lips, he knew they were true. Sometime between the flu and little Zaydin and the funeral—between all the hugs and the kisses and the dimpled grins—Michael Phelps had fallen in love with Ryan Lochte. 

  


“Yeah, I do.” And Michael smiled, eyes crinkled.

  


Ryan just leaned up and crashed his lips against Michael’s. He kissed him good and hard and, when he finally leaned back for air, Mike caught the wet glint in the man’s eyes. “Me too.” Ryan grinned his dimpled grin and kissed Mike on the chin. “Me too.”


End file.
